


Misattribution of Arousal

by petit_moineau



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: (probably), Explosions, F/M, First Kiss, Near Death Experiences, Psychology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petit_moineau/pseuds/petit_moineau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex's life might have been a veritable scratch card of poor decisions lately, but she decided kissing Richard Strand in the wake of a brush with death was definitely a good choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misattribution of Arousal

The investigation was fairly straightforward, despite Alex’s good-natured jibes.  (Why is it always a cabin?  In the woods?  With creepy symbols?)  (There’s nothing creepy about math, Alex.)  They got photos and ambient sound recordings, along with a full testimony from Strand as to what the symbols on the cabin floor meant—probably—and a ten-minute tangent on the finer workings of the ritualistic habits of an extinct civilization in Latin America.  That part wasn’t too important, and she’d have to edit it out later.  But she couldn’t bring herself to stop him when his eyes got that bright, delighted look that meant he was about to depart on something edifying and obscure.  All in all, they should have been home before dinner, and might have been, had Alex not spotted the hunk of metal in the tree.

“What on earth is _that?_ ” she pointed.

Strand stared at it, his face blank.  “I honestly have no idea.”

“If my tree-climbing skills were better, I might try to get it down.”

Strand treated her to a dry grin.  “Please don’t.  I’d hate to have to come after you.”

“Why, because you doubt I can climb trees?”

“No, because then we’d both be stuck up there.”

She laughed.  Strand’s ability to crack jokes still took her by pleasant surprise.  She would have forgotten about the tree and the hunk of metal had she not stumbled against the tree, tripping over a root.  The old steel fell, rolling gracefully down a branch that sloped down to the roof of the cabin that they’d investigated.

In the next instant the world was silent and on fire.

How much time passed before she rose up on her elbows?  She couldn’t say.  Her ears were ringing so badly that movement made her dizzy, but she forced herself to a sitting position.  Her back throbbed; she guessed she’d been thrown.  Strand was leaning against a nearby tree.  The cabin was a smoldering crater, which made the least sense of all.  She tried to push herself to standing and cried out in pain, her arm crumpling under her.  Her wrist was a little red and starting to swell, but didn’t seem broken.  She pushed against her knees with her good arm and stood a little shakily, gingerly making her way to Strand.  She sat down with a thump in front of him and gently slapped his cheeks.  “Strand.  Strand?”  He muttered something she couldn’t make out.  “Richard!”

“Stop shaking me,” he grumbled crankily.  She laughed breathlessly with relief.

“Are you okay?”

He blinked and stretched out his neck carefully.  “I think so.   My ears are ringing.  Are you okay?”  He searched her face, his eyes unguarded and a little hazy without his glasses.

“Sprained wrist, maybe?  My ears are ringing too.  At least the trees aren’t on fire.  What…what _was_ that?”

Strand had a very strange look on his face.  “I think it was a fire balloon.”

“A what.”  She said it flatly, not because she didn’t believe him, but because she didn’t know what he was talking about.

Strand paused to gather his thoughts.  “Small incendiaries used by the Japanese army in World War II.  They used balloons to send them across the Pacific.  The US estimated that maybe only a third were ever found.”

The ridiculousness of it struck Alex dumb.  “You can’t be serious.”

He squinted a little to bring her into focus.  “Actually, we’re amazingly lucky we’re not dead, considering how close we were to it.”

A cold sliver of doubt nudged her stomach.  “You can’t be serious,” she repeated.

“Alex.  In the late 50s a group of five people somehow triggered one from several hundred feet away.  They were all killed instantly.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.  “Oh,” she said very quietly.  The further this knowledge sank in, the more Alex felt like she was falling down a really long tunnel.  The rational part of her mind said ‘delayed shock.’  She felt her breath come a little faster, and she was painfully aware of her entire body, every molecule working in harmony to keep her alive, so many different processes at once.

“Alex?”  Strand broke her reverie gently.  His  face seemed very close to hers.  His pretty blue eyes were brighter than normal.  There was a bloody scratch on his cheek.  They both could have died.  Her head felt a little fuzzy with the realization and relief.

“Alex?”

She leaned up and kissed him.

He made a startled noise.  His mouth was warm, a little chapped, and parting against hers.  She smiled against his lips.

“There is—a well-known phenomenon—misattribution—of arousal—brought on by fear,” he murmured between kisses.  She used her good arm to pull him more firmly to her.  Her life might have been a veritable scratch card of poor decisions lately, but she’d decided that of all the things she could be doing right now, kissing Richard Strand in the wake of a brush with death was definitely a good choice.  “Alex,” he whispered, lips brushing against hers lightly.  She used that opportunity to nibble on his bottom lip, which had an immediate and delightful effect on him.  His hold tightened reflexively, and one hand came up to smooth back her hair.  He kissed with disgustingly good skill for someone whom she imagined hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, and she ran out of breath sooner than she wanted.

They rested against each other’s foreheads, smelling of smoke and pine sap.  His cheeks were pink and her lips were swollen.  It was a good look on him.  She decided to enjoy it now and think about the consequences later.

When they felt ready to leave, he helped her stand, guiding her gently but firmly with a hand on her back—to keep her from unwittingly detonating another seventy-year-old bomb, surely.  Their drive back to Seattle was companionably quiet, interrupted by a stop off at a clinic for her to get her wrist wrapped.  Strand broke the silence when she pulled up to his apartment.  He cleared his throat, not quite looking at her.  “You know, what I said about misattribution of arousal…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“It’s the new apophenia,” Alex replied promptly with a completely straight face.

Strand’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise.  A very reluctant smile worked its way across his lips.  “Is that to say that you believe in apophenia as much as you believe in misattribution of arousal, Ms. Reagan?”

Before she had time to think better of it, she gave him a tranquil smile.  “I’ve never believed much in social psychology, Dr. Strand.  It makes it sound like people don’t do things because they want to.”

His smile turned wry in that familiar way she’d come to love.  “Some would say that just because you don’t believe in it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

She couldn’t help her wicked grin.  “Some would say the same of you and the supernatural, Dr. Strand.”

The unamused look he gave her was worth whatever she’d face come morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, writing two things in as many days. I just really love this pairing, guys, what can I say. New to the fandom and I mostly use it to blog about my boring personal life, but I've got me a [tumblr](http://saintsandsirens.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
